The Parting of Winter
by littledarkangelhippie
Summary: He died in the war, only he hadn't...? Naruto is standing right in front of her, bright and healthy, but why can't anyone else see him? Hinata must find a why to prove he's still alive, to prove she isn't crazy, but she could be getting into more than she thinks. naruhina.
1. The Passing of Autumn

**A.N.****: ****This took _such_ a long time to begin, but a surprisingly short amount of time to finish (this chapter at least). This story won't have a lot of chapters, I don't think. Won't say how many because then I'll try to squeeze it all into that amount and hurry myself into it...and then it won't be as good. And I hate not giving my best.**

**This is sad and deals with loss. Hinata is much more mature in this, perhaps a little out of character to some of you—at least the ones who came into this looking for the stuttering and nervous Hinata, the one who is _always _nice and gentle—but it didn't feel that way to me. I like the Hinata who is strong and determined and assertive. And that's who she is here.**

**There will be bonds in this that aren't in the original story of _Naruto_, and you'll spot them pretty quickly. They're not hard to see.**

**This is rated M for violence, death, and overall mature themes.**

**Pairings: Naruto and Hinata. Sasuke and Sakura (only mentioned).**

**Disclaimer****: I do not own ****_Naruto._**

**The Passing of Autumn**

"Miss," a voice called from somewhere behind her.

She slowly opened her eyes, fingers curling into the sleeves of her kimono, pallid lips parting as she took in a deep breath, robes tightening about her bust slightly. She did not let her surprise show as she realized, with the widening of her eyes, that is was already nighttime. The shine of the sleek stone standing before her was the darkest of blues, not white like it had been before, which felt like mere seconds ago to her. Not hours as it appeared to be.

A quick glance around her told her that she alone now, whereas, before, she had been surrounded with like-minded mourners, gathered close to stare at the headstone, a single and separate structure set away from the larger memorial, not too many meters below, down some polished steps the color of the blackest nights. The memorial had been built for the many lost lives, all of brave shinobi that had not made it till the very end. It was pointed at the top, and upon its surface were the names of every soldier that had not survived—what most didn't know was that only the names of the bodies they had found were the ones etched on there, and many shinobi had never been recovered; regrettably, of course—built in the center of a set of stairs, wide and rather short, curved in a arched formation, with a full field beyond it.

Miles and miles away from Konoha, near the battlefield.

The headstone she stood before, however, was its own memorial. A dark color that shined ultramarine or silver in certain lights, and with only a single name engraved upon the center. There were no flowers laid before it, and behind it, where fresh grass had been lain, was where the coffin was buried. It was intricate, smoothly carved out of a fine stone, and she wanted to reach out and touch it, just for a second. Only the briefest brushing of the tips of her fingers across it.

Her hand only got so far before her heart squeezed in her chest.

"My Lady," the same voice said, closer now, and yet still a few steps lower, where the platform was flat, a break between the two memorials. "Forgive me, but we must depart now. Your father is waiting down below."

At the exit, yes, where he had stayed since the beginning of the funeral. She knew—she had to get back to her duties at one point, and that would be now—but she felt the greatest reluctance to move from her spot, a place she had taken up when they were all past words and memories. Past all of the open grief and solemn faces. Past the final burial.

A place she did not move from. A place she wanted to stay—if not forever, than for as long as she possibly could.

That time limit, it seemed, was over now. Sooner than she would've ever liked.

_But life isn't about what you want, is it? If it were, he'd still be here._

"I understand," she murmured, her soft voice now darkened by the deepest sense of remorse. She could feel the heavy stare on her back, as the wind made the hem of her kimono dance ever so slightly, a serious and yet elegant fluttering, and then go still immediately.

"If you don't mind me asking," the man mumbled, a new ANBU member that had been appointed to her after the preparations had been complete, perhaps a man from a different country, another nation, who knew nothing of the person she mourned now. "Were you close to him?"

She felt her lips turn upward, although her eyes remained emotionless and downcast, into a most rueful smile. "I suppose so."

She turned and did not look up to see what mask he wore—such curiosity she would always have, observing those white-faced creatures move through the sky and darkness, gone now as she stepped down from the tombstone. Her ivory black geta scraped lightly across what loose gravel there was, folding her arms to tuck them within the warm confines of her sleeves, bowing her head as she heard him follow.

A clumsy ANBU. A more skilled member would be more silent than her own shadow.

As she passed beneath an arch of metal, he turned and locked the gate, and something sank within her as she remembered what she'd been told, what every soldier had been told. It would be shut to all sorts visitations, because of those few remaining who still harbored hatred toward the late jinchuuriki. Inaccessible for another few months until the final riots died down.

She swallowed her sadness.

Her father waited at the entrance, staring up at the sky, clouds gathering so quickly, and watched him straighten and pull out an umbrella, opening it as she approached. He wore a black haori over his own kimono, a black cotton material, and it had the family crest on the back. A silent honoring of the one responsible for the ending of the war. He held an arm out for her to take, pulling her under the coverage of the dark umbrella, guiding her back toward a carriage brought out for them. He helped her inside and climbed in behind her.

The ANBU bowed respectfully, and she caught the face of the mask just before he shut the door for them, after a customary goodbye and good luck.

A grinning fox.

A mockery.

~~...~~o*o~~...~~

"That comb was meant for your wedding," her father commented as they passed under the back gates of Konoha, quickly making their way to their home, in the more rural area of the village. He wasn't looking at her, arms crossed, white eyes directed out the window, an expression about his face that made it seem as if he hadn't just spoken.

She turned her head back to face forward, hands folded carefully at her lap. "I felt it was appropriate."

The truth was there in the silence following, and he knew immediately what she meant, closing his eyes in something akin to acceptance.

She had no intentions of marrying now.

The carriage pulled to a stop at the opening of their home, and the door was opened by a servant, bowing and assisting them out and past the front gates. They did not ask how their trip had went, perhaps already knowing how useless it would be to. They remained quiet and left them be as they stepped through the threshold of their home. Newly rebuilt after the long war, after the destruction of the village. Repaired by fellow villagers who had been blissfully unaware of their loss, who would be alerted of the passing of their hero in the morning.

A maid came to her as she stepped out of her geta, bending and picking them up from the ground to clean. She went to her room without a word, leaving her father there to deal with the elders who had come up to inquire about further treaties they had to attend to. _Uchiha_, she heard. _Sunagakure_...

She did not turn back to join, even if she was officially the heir now and had every right to.

She pulled at the end of the knot the minute she was in her room, letting the obi slide down, and hooked her finger at the front to loosen it enough to unravel about her slender waist and fall to the ground. Before she could pull apart the front of her kimono, the maid stepped in, exclaiming, "Miss! I must put those away to clean! Please don't dirty them further!"

And so she didn't, halting her actions altogether and letting her hands fall to her sides. The maid came up to gather the white obi as another maid came in to slide the kimono off her shoulders. A black silk robe with a white trim, folded carefully, respectfully, and then the under robe, a simple white with a thin knot around the middle keeping it closed. All slipped away until she was left in her chest wrappings, her mesh armor, and her dark shorts, the white tabi she let them pull off, lifting her feet silently for them.

When they were gone, she finally breathed.

She reached her hands up, pulling pins and clips from her raven hair, setting them down on her vanity table. The comb, however, which was porcelain and had the black crest of her family in the center, she placed within the blue velvet inside the mahogany box she had found it in, shutting it and clasping the lock once more, setting it atop her bookcase, where it would stay forever.

She wouldn't be using it again.

~~...~~o*o~~...~~

The next time she wore a kimono was at a different kind of ceremony. They were also traditional, last worn by her own mother, and the color of lilacs, the hem printed with simple flowers and her hair pinned up once again by clips of ivory colors, lips faintly painted with light gloss. Her geta were wooden and she wore no tabi this time. A maid followed her, holding a silken umbrella above her as rain sprinkled down lightly, cool with the passing and ripe autumn. Before she stepped out onto the streets outside the walls of her home, her father came up beside her, straight-faced and calm, but with a look in his eyes that told her more than she needed to know.

"You will be there in my stead to give your blessing as a Hyuga," he murmured, and draped the family haori around her shoulders. "Do me proud."

She bowed. "Yes, father."

And she turned to walk down the street, the maid hurrying after her to hold the umbrella above her. She could feel her father's eyes on her. Not doubtful. Not worried. But relieved, for once, to see his daughter taking on her family name as she should've so long ago.

The estates were down further, closer to the village, between the farms and the beginnings of larger shops, a patch of woods separating it from those particular places and yet open enough to be noticeable in its discrepancy. Two guards were lined at the entrance, and bowed as she approached, opening the gates for her to enter.

The pathway up to the house was cleaned and lined with decorations, simple in taste and quite covertly placed, so as not to distract too much. The house was large, almost as large as the Hyuga estates, and were repainted and fixed to look even better than it had originally looked, pictures she had seen as a child. As she walked up the short steps, she was advised by another servant—or, rather, her maid was advised, as she hastily closed the umbrella beneath the coverage—to keep the geta, for they would be heading into the open courtyard for the ceremony. The maid carried her geta, and followed her through a hall, as directed, and paused at a particular doorway, where paper doors were shut, cranes and images sewn upon them. Her maid knelt, lowering her head and stating who they were, and they were opened instantly.

After her maid had placed her geta before her, she stepped into them and down into the courtyard, where a roof had been pulled over to protect from the rain. The doors slid shut and her maid remained in the halls, to join the other servants for the preparations of the dinner, which would be held afterward.

The decorations were elegant in taste, refined in its simplicity.

It was quite lovely.

_She _was quite lovely.

Her pink hair had been pulled up into an intricate bun, where wreathes of white and red flowers had been braided within, a light touch of makeup upon her pretty face, brightening her wide green eyes and darkening her lashes. The kimono was pink and white, with a silk red obi around her waist, where the long laces nearly touched the ground. In place of the traditional garb, she had a veil pinned in her hair, over her face. Her cheeks were flushed nicely in her anticipation, a small smile curling her red lips.

So _different _from the last time she'd really seen her, as she held the body of the one they would never see again—pale and ghastly and blank and unfeeling.

So much changed in so little time.

"Hinata-san," someone said, breaking her from her stupor. She turned to find Ino and Tenten standing off to the side, watching her patiently. "It's about to begin," Ino stated. "Sasuke-san would like you to sit at the front with Kazekage-sama and his family. If you wouldn't mind too much."

And since when did Ino ever call Sasuke that? Since when was it _Sasuke-san _and not _Sasuke-kun_? And that polite tone directed at her, so formal and impersonal. As if she were the head of a clan.

_But you are, and there's no denying it now_.

"Very well," she replied, turning and walking up the aisle, nodding at the Kazekage, whose green eyes showed a sign of kindness—and yet such a sign of pain; the only other person that would admit they had not quite recovered from the last ceremony they had attended—and stood, a proper gentleman, for her to sit in the chair appointed beside his, only sitting back down when she had finished adjusting her kimono about herself. He wore one, too, almost as red as his hair, a haori about his shoulders, just like her. He crossed his arms as he always seemed to and settled back in the chair, waiting for it to begin.

His siblings were a little more plainly dressed. Temari wore a purple dress, and black sandals, but her hair was tied up as usual and had no special jewelry or makeup or clothing. Kankuro wore all black, as usual. Nothing special, but his face was clear of his paint.

They had come simply because the final treaty with the formerly known criminal had to be solidified before he was accepted completely into the village as a shinobi once more.

"Thank you," she found herself saying to the Kazekage, who turned his head to look at her.

He seemed to understand the deeper meaning, hidden beneath her words. Not just thanking him for coming all this way _just _for this, but for so much more, more than she could explain right then. He smiled, ever so slightly, as she met his gaze, and she felt herself almost smile back. "My pleasure."

When they had settled back into silence, the ceremony began, and they watched as the remaining members of Team Seven were wedded before a small and close audience. Their sensei sat at the front, across the row, beside the Hokage and the young boy who had self-proclaimed himself the next Hokage—formerly the seventh and now the sixth, almost despondently stated. Her own teammates in the row behind them, and the rest of the rookie nine, as well her late cousin's remaining teammates. Every Jonin that had taught those teams were lined up at the back, along with a few ANBU members that monitored the only Uchiha's every action.

Sakura's parents sat in the row behind her and the Kazekage's family.

The procession was simple and quick.

Sasuke was not the most ostentatious person in the world, and hardly ever showed too many emotions, despite how much he did seem to care for his last teammate, and so he wasted no time in slipping a band on Sakura's finger—as she did to him—and lifted the pretty veil to lean down and press his lips to hers in an almost chaste kiss. The girls did sigh as he did, all of which had silently admired his handsomeness for quite a long time, and made him pull back quickly, a mild tinging of red on his cheeks.

Hinata only smiled a serious smile.

"Shall we proceed with the final blessings?" the priest asked.

"Yes," Sasuke said, and Hinata and Gaara stood from their seats—the only other heads to their clans, one by default and one by loss—stepping up onto the alter together. Did she hear someone sigh softly, as if admiring them both for a moment? Elegantly dressed in their families robes and standing in the places of the elders who led them, both pale and expressionless and dutiful.

Papers were unrolled before them as the Hokage approached, moving into the priest's place as he backed away, pushing forward the ink bottles that held finely lacquered brushes within them. "By order of the Clan Restoration Act, which has only ever been used once in the history of Konoha and had, unfortunately, failed, Sasuke Uchiha will be set free from all of his crimes to begin restoring his clan. As the only remaining Uchiha, he is, by law, requested to produce an heir within the next year. In order to do this, he must have the signatures of two Clan Heads, which are you two. Hinata Hyuga and the Kazekage, Gaara."

They both took up their brushes as she placed her manicured fingers at the top of the documents, and leaned over to sign their names on the lines at the bottom. Her hands retracted as they straightened, taking hold of the stamps and pressing them down in the black ink boxes, and then stamped both papers, officially solidifying the treaties.

And finally giving Sasuke Uchiha his freedom.

"May the bride and groom lead a happy life and produce many healthy heirs," Lady Tsunade said, smiling to herself.

"May they be the start of future generations of peace and change," Gaara murmured.

"May they prosper and guide the world to greater things," Hinata breathed.

Sasuke and Sakura linked hands between them silently as the rest of the audience stood in unison. The promise for a better life whispered softly through the air.

~~...~~o*o~~...~~

Hinata had not expected it, but she had shown up a few days later at the green gates of the entrance of Konoha, wearing her hoodie and navy pants and black sandals—glad to finally be free of kimonos and traditional clothing—there to bid a farewell to the Kazekage and his siblings, already making to step out of the village and begin their three day journey to their home in the desert. He had spotted her first, pausing and turning to face her completely, his siblings stopping just a few steps away from him.

"Kazekage-sama," she said, bowing.

"Please," he said, "call me Gaara."

It could've been because of their exchange at the wedding, or perhaps because she had sat with him through the dinner, lightly conversing with him, and had stayed until he had had to leave, back to his hotel room to sleep, to wake early the next day to sign more documents as the Kazekage, or maybe even because she had told him, quietly because no one else would really understand, that she sometimes dreams that the one they both missed more than anything was still alive—and he had gently whispered back that he dreamed the same sometimes.

Friends, because their sorrow had made them be.

"Gaara," she sighed. "I wanted to properly say goodbye. I...was glad to see you came, and I'm happy you... I'm happy you were his friend for so long..."

His smile became sad, brow furrowing. "It was our past that brought us together. And I will always be his friend." He looked down slowly. "Even if he's gone. I will always consider him my greatest friend."

"Thank you," she said. "I... I consider you my friend, too."

"And I you," he replied. He held out his hand for her to shake, open and welcome and relaxed, not like he was before he'd met their hero.

She did not take his hand, a sudden tearing of her heart pushing her, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a light hug, turning her head away against the curve of his shoulder, her ear pressing into his collarbone.

What happened to him being short? What happened to the sand that would've hurt her?

So much changed in so little time.

His hands patted her back gently in response, his hair brushing across hers, crimson in black, before they pulled away.

"Please be safe," she said.

"You, too."

And he turned to leave with his siblings, who watched with curious expressions, out to their home within the blistering desert.

~~...~~o*o~~...~~

Mid November, and she had been promoted.

Officially, a Jonin. At least, that was what her family and friends were told, to which they celebrated amongst themselves, a little dinner party together, praising her abilities—what they didn't know, and what she didn't want to tell them, was that the only reason she had gotten so strong in so little time, was because she needed to keep her mind off of her darker thoughts, telling her to give up on life and all of its pains—telling her that she would make a great addition to the upper lines.

A handful of people knew, watching her gravely as she stood before the Hokage, that that was not entirely the truth.

Sure, she was a Jonin, during the more peaceful times, when the world remembered what they had gone to war for and what they had fought so hard for, delivering messages of good will to other villages and keeping their home safe.

But that wasn't the whole truth.

Because when the world _did _forget what they had gone to war for, what they had fought so hard for, she wasn't a Jonin.

She was an ANBU member. And she would kill. And she would threaten. And she would slaughter. And she would protect her people with all her might.

That meant harsh training, and hours and hours of information being pounded into her. And then a tattoo on her left bicep, that she hid from her comrades with sleeves and excuses, when they offered to go to the onsen together, like they used to after missions. And knotting her hair up into a high ponytail, dressing up into that wretched uniform, masking her figure and body from those who would recognize her, lowering her voice when spoken to so that those who would know, those who would figure it out, wouldn't.

And then that mask, carved into the face of a cat. Comical, in a sense, and cute in a serious way.

But there is a darker meaning behind it, and she knows it better than anyone.

~~...~~o*o~~~...~~

The day she decides to cut her hair, it is already the last day of November, and the colorful leafs in the trees around her home had all fallen into crinkly piles in her yard. The air had cooled so much her jacket became a necessity on most days, and clouds of white began to gather at her mouth lightly, breath warm against her fingers as she rubbed them together softly.

Her comrades had questioned her, reaching out to touch the long black hair that tumbled down her back. They had gotten so used to seeing her like this, strands of silk framing her gentle face, which had become so serious lately that she was hardly recognizable anymore—on most days.

"It'll make things easier," she said, tucking a few strands behind her ear. "Lately, I've been having trouble maintaining it."

A lie. She had no trouble maneuvering herself the right way to keep her hair from getting in the way. And she certainly had no problem taking care of it.

_But the problem is that you grew it for him. You wanted to show him how much you've changed._

Her friends, however, did not see through her lie, and smiled kindly smiles as if they understood. And let her get her hair cut short once again, all about her delicate chin in a fine chop, just like when she was thirteen, telling her that she looked very pretty, no matter how her hair looked.

She could feel the breeze on her neck and could feel how cold it truly was, but she could, at times, forget the world had changed so fast in so little time, when she caught quick glimpses of herself in windows or in the reflections in the rivers she passed during missions.

She could forget the world had lost its meaning.

~~...~~o*o~~...~~

The first day of December is usually when her father begins to build fires in the brick fireplace, and when the servants begin to serve hot tea and leave extra blankets folded atop the end of the bed. And, really, all she wants to do is curl up in a chair, wrapped up in a wool blanket, a book in her lap and a cup of hot tea in her hands, sitting by the fireplace and listening to it _crackle_ and _pop_ so gently, but she has her duties to attend to and she had no time to.

Her father pats her shoulder before she goes and her sister offers a cursory smile as she practices calligraphy beside the fire, and then she's out the door, into the cold, and making her way to the headquarters, where she'll get what information she needs and can dress into her uniform without anyone seeing—and questioning.

She clasped her vest into place, sliding the tanto in its sheath at her back, hooking her pouches behind her and tightening the metal guards at her forearms. She just finished sliding her mask on when another member approaches, handing her some documents. They are cloaked in black and the shadows hide their face, turned down as she looks at them—not to search their face, to try to figure out who they are, but because her eyes automatically look to find another set to stare at as they speak. Courtesy, as she had been taught her whole life; thrown out the window for secrecy.

"It's not too far away, maybe a few miles shy of the border between the Fire and Rain Countries, a little more to the east. There should be a map there," they said, taking a few steps back, toward the darker side of the room they stood within, a smaller compartment off the main hall. "We have reason to believe that they've set up some mines—technology we haven't trained our regular troops to handle."

_They _were the enemy, but in this time of so-called peace, there were no enemies. Not exactly.

And this technology _they _are using is, in a sense, advanced. The time of old fashioned weaponry and good old jutsu is passing. Paper bombs and wire traps were no longer effective, as shinobi become stronger and teaching methods become stricter; all in the names of preventing future wars, and bringing some tranquility to their villagers' minds. Regular shinobi, of course, were not practiced in these things as the ANBU were. As she was.

Where she hadn't been before.

So much changed in so little time.

"You're protecting a young heiress to a noble family, being taken by carriage to her wedding," they continued, and she idly wondered if there will ever be trust between them, as members of the same organization. "She doesn't know she's being protected but the family guards and her parents do."

_And that's all that matters_; they don't say it, but she can hear it in their words.

"I'll get it done," she replied, folding the papers carefully and tucking it into her pouch. "She'll arrive safely at her destination at the appointed time."

She hears the smile in their voice, but it's not a warm one. "It's a winter-based wedding. She'll be wearing blue and white, if you have trouble finding her." And then serious once more. "Alert the guards you're there by breaking the glass wire they have set up ahead of time. Your eyes are sharp. Won't be too hard to find it."

She doesn't agree nor disagree, just moves past them to the door. "She will arrive safely," is all she says.

~~...~~o*o~~...~~

_Nothing will ever be that simple._

She found the glass wire easily, landing on a branch lightly and crouching there beside it. It was attached between one small stem of a branch and stretched across the dirt path to stick onto another branch of a thin tree, on the other side, where the dirt sloped down to where, perhaps, a river rolled slowly, fit to freeze within the next few weeks. She breathed out softly atop it, and it became visible as it warmed slightly, fogging. As narrow as string but as fragile as glass, ready to be broken whenever she was ready.

She waited, sitting on her haunches, hands rested on her knees, watching the path, until a carriage came rolling up. It was pulled by two strong-looking horses, black maned and brown bodied, and led by a sleepy looking man that wore a black cap and a heavy coat, yawning into his hand. Four guards walked alongside it, two at the front and two at the back, burly men that were perhaps twice her height and three times her mass. Their eyes flicked across the woods, most likely searching for the ANBU that would protect their young mistress.

She reached one finger up and tapped it against the glass wire quickly, shattering it completely. The shards glistened in the weak sun, hidden by pearly clouds that were thick and plentiful, catching their eyes, and they seemed to relax ever so slightly. She stood, stepping further along the branch, tilting her head out of the leafs and holding a hand up to be seen. One of them spotted her and nodded just a bit, noting her porcelain white mask amongst the darker shadows, and then she backed away, flitting from one branch to another, guarding them as they traveled.

Easy enough. Nothing to be too cautious about, no enemies to be spotted, no mines to be seen.

_But nothing is ever so simple._

She pauses at one large oak, frowning to herself, and activates her _byakugan—_no hand signs, no hesitance, just a quick blink and a second of concentration and it was there—and _there_, not two feet away, right where she'd been planning on jumping to next, was a mine, embedded within the bark. She bypassed it for a safer branch, and moved on, keeping track of the ones around her, noting their locations, before looking over to check the path for any.

She focused her chakra at her feet, hanging upside down from a safe branch, and made a noise, lifting her mask just a little for the sound to come out clearly. A sound much like the birds, only higher, shriller, and one of the guards turned to look, curious. She fixed her mask as they did, pushing off from the branch and landing before them, waiting until the carriage was a good distance away before speaking.

"There are land mines here, too. Stop the carriage," she murmured, reaching into her pouch. "I'll mark them. Keep the lady distracted." And she was moving, quick, fleeting, flashing from place to place and leaving small white strips of paper. She was already ahead of them, leaving a final strip beside a mine, careful not to set it off, when they begin moving again. She hid behind a tree, where the dirt slopes down into a riverbank, and nodded back at a guard as they passed.

She was already jumping up into the trees, pushing past them to find more mines along the way, leaving scraps of paper, only stopping to look back, watching them avoid the mines set up—a guard walked beside the heiress's window, reassuring her that they were only taking precautions—and hurried on to find more.

Not too many. But enough that she understood just how difficult this would've been for any normal shinobi.

When she thought about it, she was one of the last remaining Hyuga that were shinobi anymore. And when she _really_ thought about it, she was the last kunoichi.

She tried not to think about it then.

They were approaching the gates of a village, one smaller than Konoha, and yet richer—only nobles lived there and it was highly guarded; she would not make it past the entrance, but she didn't need to—when they attacked.

Confused about the silence, disturbed by the quiet, only moving in because it was their last choice. They had to keep two villages from forming a treaty somehow, and this was their only way.

A desperate last resort.

They were fast, drawing their weapons and forming their jutsus. But she was faster.

She always would be.

Only her tanto in hand, slashing away at throats—quick kills, silent kills, practiced and proper as she had been taught—and making her way closer to the carriage. The guards were none the wiser and she did not change that, snapping necks and slamming her palms into chests, stopping hearts altogether and letting them drop to the ground quietly, leaving them there to be found later, to be identified and whatnot.

She is finished before they even pass beneath the gates, and the guards turn to give bows in respect before shutting the gates and locking them to outsiders.

The money will be sent by messenger bird to Konohagakure, long before she returned home, and she knew that well enough, sliding her tanto back into its sheath and turning to make her way back. Walking this time, because she was tired, even if she wouldn't admit it.

Her job is done and she wanted nothing more than to curl up in a chair with a book in her lap and a cup of hot tea in her hands, wrapped in a wool blanket beside a fireplace. She wanted nothing more than to shut her eyes and know she would not die, for then.

_But things can never be simple. Not for you_.

And so she wasn't surprised—or perhaps she was, but she did not feel it, not for a while anyway—when she saw, standing on the other side of the river, where she'd glanced to check if the waters had frozen yet, the one person she had been missing for so long.

The one who gave life its meaning.

~~...~~o*o~~...~~

**A.N.****: Alright, so Hinata finds it hard to live on without him. He had always been her motivation to keep going. And, now that he's gone, she has to find it on her own. She found it in her duties to her village.**

**ANBU are, of course, advanced shinobi. And she trained hard after everything had calmed down, trying to keep herself distracted, and had caught the attention of the Hokage, who had decided to make her a member of it. They usually deal with quick but difficult assassinations, interrogations, and acts of torture. Hinata, of course, isn't the sort to do this, but since she's decided to focus on her job and push her feelings away, she decides she has to.**

**Anyway, please review! I'd like feedback on my story and would like to hear what you think, any questions, and _criticism_. **

**This is as much for your enjoyment as it is for my growth as a writer. Tell me how I did. **

**And I will update when I can.**


	2. The Eyes That Never Lie

**A.N.****: Sorry to say, but updates won't come out as quick as this one.**

**Anyway, so this has had great response and I was happy to hear you guys enjoyed the first chapter. Why didn't I describe Hinata's encounter with him at the end of the first chapter? Because it was supposed to be vague. In this chapter you get _both _their points of views in one, the beginning of the "romance" part of this story. It's brief, but I think I was subtle. (No, I'm probably lying, it's not.)**

**And then there's a bit of mystery. Why is Naruto there?**

**Again, as a warning, Hinata is much more serious in this story, but will occasionally show her sweet side, because of Naruto.**

**Disclaimer****: I do not own ****_Naruto_.**

**The Eyes That Never Lie**

"Hey..." he whispered, a hand twitching up to reach out to the figure on the other side of the river, something lifting inside of him at the familiar uniform they wore, but caught himself before he did. Maybe they were on a mission and were weary of others, no matter who they were. He half expected them to back away, vanish into the shadows strewn across them by the trees, but they stayed put, watching him silently. He couldn't tell who they were, only that there were female—from the slightness of her shoulders and the subtle shapes beneath the uniform, notable even under her armor. He could see short black hair, familiar in a way, but he couldn't quite tell how, squinting his eyes up at her, trying to figure out who she was.

Did he know her? Had he ever spoken to her before? Would she kindly help him to Konoha?

That thought brought back his earlier worries, refraining from looking around himself again. How did he end up here? He had expected to wake up, after a white and empty dream of peace and quiet, in the middle of the battlefield, bloody and tired but victorious—he had seen his enemy fall, he had felt the last of that dark and horrible energy drain from his body; he _knew _he had beaten him, just before he had blacked out completely—or, at the very least, to wake up in a bed of white sheets, surrounded by his friends; a worried Sakura and a relieved Sasuke. A scolding Tsunade and a smiling Kakashi.

Anything but this. He couldn't find his comrades, having woken up beside a river, the air colder than it should've been, all alone and with no signs of life anywhere—birds, yes, and insects, but no people to speak to, to ask things, to be comforted by—and he felt the deepest sense of confusion, looking down at himself. Clothes completely intact and not a drop of blood to be found anywhere, no bones broken or muscles torn, stretching himself and finding not a single discomfort in his body, no bandages to be found anywhere. The most disturbing thing, he'd say, besides all of these things that didn't add up in his mind, was that things were _quiet _in his head.

_Kurama...? _Silence followed the inquiry, and he tried and tried to search within himself, but could only get so far before he realized, with a painful jolt, that he was completely and entirely alone.

This ANBU member was the only person he'd seen in the time he'd been standing there, trying to piece things together, and he wanted nothing more than to fall at her feet and throw all of his questions at her, ask her what the hell was going on, if the war had ended, if it had all been a dream to begin with and nothing had really changed and his friends were all alive—_all of them—_and to know, most of all, if everyone was safe. If life had gone on the same in his sleep.

She remained where she was, perhaps waiting for him to speak, and he wanted to, so that she wouldn't turn to leave and finish her mission, but he couldn't find the words he needed.

Gathering what courage he had, he clenched his fists and turned his head back up to her. Her mask was white, like normal, and had the face of a cat, red whiskers and a single red circle at its forehead, simple and almost endearing, with its lips curled at the ends slightly. Nothing showy and complicated, and he decided he fairly liked it, for all its simplicity. "I need help," he finally said, as if he were a lost child that couldn't find his parents.

How terribly ironic.

She moved, breaking her motionless state of being, taking a step forward and tilting her head to the side. Graceful, smooth, and he found himself becoming relaxed, letting himself trust her in the silent exchange between them.

But he misread her.

She was fast, almost too quick for his eyes to follow—only Naruto had faced much stronger opponents and had grown so fast in his own strength that he continued to surprise himself, and certainly others, all the time—and she was beside him before he could speak again. For a second, he thought she was going to check him for wounds, turning to let her look him over as she pleased, and was surprised when, suddenly, her tanto was against his throat, pressing beneath his jaw, her other hand lashing out to grasp his shoulder tightly, keeping him there.

"Who are you?" she asked, voice muffled, and ultimately altered, by her mask, so that he could not recognize it from its sound alone.

_But her hair_, he thought, looking at it closely now that she was near. _I know it somehow. I know I do... _The color it gave in the faint sunlight, blocked by clouds above them, was familiar. He felt his brows pull together, thinking, trying to remember.

The blade pressed closer, but never hard enough to break the skin; she did not want to harm him if she didn't have to. "Who are you?" she demanded again.

Did she not recognize him? He was sure everyone in the village knew him—even if she was a kunoichi from a different village, disguising herself as Konoha ANBU. He knew most of the world knew him by now.

"I'm Naruto," he said, straightening. She was shorter than him, slighter. Maybe she was his age. "Uzumaki, Naruto."

"Liar," she immediately snapped. "Naruto Uzumaki is dead."

Something plummeted within him. Was this a sick joke? "N... No," he said, shaking his head and stepping back, breaking her hold easily, surprising her. "I'm alive. I'm right here."

Her breath caught as he took her hand, skin warmer than she anticipated in this cold weather, and pressed her two fingers against his soft throat, where her blade had just been, and she could feel his pulse, faint, against the tips. She yanked her hand away quickly, meeting his eyes, which glistened that painfully sweet blue, wounded by her distrust.

"See? I'm alive," he mumbled, lowering his hand.

"An imposter," she said, raising her tanto once again.

"No!" he exclaimed, exasperated. He was used to stubborn people, but this situation frustrated him, made him more panicked than he should've been. He wasn't dead. He wouldn't die, _just like that_, in the middle of a war. And he wouldn't die until he reached his final goal. He wouldn't let himself, and she had to understand that.

"I attended his funeral."

And that stopped him completely.

"I saw them bury him away forever. I saw him die with my own eyes," she murmured, and her voice was grave, emotionless, and entirely serious. She was not lying. "If you're going to disguise yourself as someone else, pick someone who's at least _alive_. Don't hurt other people like this."

_Hurt? _It was his only thought, stock still and disbelieving, breath caught in his throat. She must've known him, _somehow_, to be at a funeral held for him. If she was close to him, maybe he could get her to believe him.

Because he couldn't be dead. He could feel his heart pumping, hard in his ribs, and he could feel his lungs fill with air, quickly, functioning properly like he always has. If he was anything, he was alive. And she could not deny him that. Even if she seemed hell-bent on it, he would prove to her he was alive.

He just had to figure out who she was.

_The mask_, he thought. _I have to take it off of her_. But she was already backing away, accepting his silence as an answer itself.

"Wait," he said, and she stopped.

Perhaps she wanted to be convinced.

To ask her to show him her face would be foolish. If she thought him an enemy, she would think he was after what information she had. And that meant knowing her identity. He understood that fact. But he had to know, or else he would never figure things out—and he would have no peace of mind.

"If I'm dead—"

"_He _is dead," she interrupted, turning back toward him. Resolute.

"Alright," he allowed. "If _he _is dead, then would I know the things I know?"

"What things?" she asked, suspicion dripping off of her voice, reaching her hand back up toward her tanto.

"Ask me anything only I—_he _would know," he said. "Anything at all."

She paused, watching him closely. "Who am I?"

_Anything but that_, he thought, lips twitching. "I know you," he said truthfully. "I know I do."

"Nice try," she replied, already turning to leave.

"Ah..." He thought quickly, and said the first thing that came to mind, "Konoha was destroyed by Pain."

"That information is declassified. Try again."

"His real name is Nagato."

She hesitated. "Rare information, but known amongst higher ranks in other villages."

"He...almost killed a very close friend of mine... I destroyed the rest of the village because I was really mad about it."

She tilted her head again, looking back at him.

_Continue_, her silence told him. "She told me that she loved me," he found himself saying. "And...seeing her get hurt like that...really..." _It hurt_, he thought, but he couldn't say it aloud.

The silence stretched on too thin, and he worried he had not given her what she wanted. But then she moved toward him, taking slow steps, as if he were a wild animal, rabid and dangerous. Careful steps, cautious steps, and then she was standing before him once again, looking up at him from behind that mask.

"If you're lying," she muttered, "I'll kill you."

He believed her.

He reached up, pausing, and then continued when she did not move, raising his hands to her mask and then hooking his fingers around it, unclasping it and pulling it off. Slowly. Painstakingly. So as not to alarm her with any sudden movements.

He did not expect to see the face he did, mask clattering to the floor by his feet, something cold running down his back in his shock.

"Hinata...?"

~~...~~o*o~~...~~

He was dazed, and they didn't get all that far before they had to stop, the sun already making to set, and found an inn not too far away. The old innkeeper, who was cynical and sarcastic, didn't seem all that willing to deny her a room, especially when she was staring at him from behind that mask. She was imposing in her uniform, after all.

When he had settled himself quietly at the end of the bed—the only bed because every other room with two was already occupied, much to her dismay—she sat at the desk to write out a letter to the Hokage, explaining that, yes, the mission had been a success but, sadly, she had been sidetracked, and would return to report back first thing the next morning. Folding the note, she formed a seal and summoned a messenger bird, cracking open the window to send it off toward her village, shutting it as soon as it was gone, unwilling to let the icy air swirl into the room and take any more heat from her.

She stood, keeping her eyes out the window, watching another leaf fall from a tree outside, fluttering down slowly, and keeping her back to him.

She didn't believe him. No rational person would. Almost two months ago, Naruto Uzumaki had died defending the whole world. A noble shinobi, a brave man, and the strongest person anyone had ever come across. The most regrettable and painful death of all, having such a warrior die. It was an inane hope that he would've survived those wounds, even with the Kyubi inside of him, healing him, restoring him, it wasn't enough to stop the hand of Death, already dragging him down. And she had _seen _it with her own eyes, eyes that would never lie. She had seen his chakra slowly fade, his heart gradually stop pumping, and, ultimately, his life end.

She had _seen _it.

There was no denying it. Naruto Uzumaki had died.

This person, claiming to be the boy she had loved so much, just knew a little more than he should've. More than anyone else should've. That information had only been known by three people in the entire world. Two of which were supposed to be deceased.

"When did you become ANBU?" he asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

"A few weeks ago," she said, turning toward him.

He looked perplexed. "Before the war?"

Something _clicked _inside of her, and sunk deep within her. But she would not let herself believe it. "No," she replied. "In November."

He smiled kindly, as if thinking she was joking. "It's barely October, Hinata. It was my birthday yesterday."

_Please don't do that_, she wanted to say. _Don't say things like that. You sound just like him_.

"It's December." He opened his eyes, smile fading slowly. "You died on your birthday. The war has been over for two months already."

A sound escaped him, probably a choked laugh. "What? Don't be silly. I was only out for a day, wasn't I?"

She approached and his mouth snapped shut, stopping her. Those eyes of his were shining, _pleading _with her. They wanted her to be joking, they begged her to be lying, and she only stood there, letting it sink in for him. She placed her hands on his shoulders, leaning down and leveling her gaze with his, lining up their eyes, demanding his full attention. "You already know. It's cold outside and the leafs have already fallen."

"N... No," he whispered. "H—Hinata..."

And the way he said her name, the way his eyes tightened, let her know exactly what she hadn't wanted to. This was Naruto, no doubt about it.

But it wasn't possible.

She was as scared as he was, but she would not let it show. Not until she knew _why_ he was here, if indeed she was not hallucinating.

"I believe you," she said. "You're Naruto."

_When did she start calling him that? Hadn't it been "Naruto-kun" before? _He was so confused, grasping within himself but coming up empty handed every time. The only anchor he had now was her, and she was too far away from him, even as she stood before him, so close.

He almost smiled, as if to spite himself. _So close and yet so far._

"Now you need to believe me."

But how could he? Yesterday, he had been at war. Today, he's been dead for two months. How was he here, then? How was she touching him and how he was _he_ touching _her_? If he was a ghost, this wouldn't be happening. So, then he wasn't a ghost. What was he?

He _couldn't _believe it. He didn't understand. There wasn't enough information to work with, not enough pieces to finish the puzzle. The _hows _and _whys _and _what am I's _weren't _there_. And it was frightening, fingers curling into the legs of his pants as he stared, stricken, at the girl before him.

Her gentle face cold and set, willing him to believe a truth he couldn't comprehend.

His voice trembled, trying to wrap his mind around it, trying to gather his bearings. "W—When did you cut your hair, Hinata? Was it while I was asleep?" He squeezed his eyes shut as she sighed in frustration, trying to keep his fear from showing. "I... I really liked your hair long. It was really pretty."

"Naruto," she said.

"You still look nice," he whispered. "You've always looked nice, I just never thought I had to say it. I think you look nice all the time, Hinata. Even when you don't..."

"Naruto."

"I think if you and I talk more, and I get to know you better, I'll like you more," he mumbled, gritting his teeth a little and trying to relax his tensing jaw. "I think...I can...love you, too, Hinata. We just need time and I... I have time now..."

"Naruto!"

"Please don't call me that!" he shouted, hands shooting out to grab hold of her hips, pulling her forward to bury his head in her stomach, a strangled sob escaping him, voice softening. "_Please_ don't call me that... I liked how you called me before. I've _always _liked how you called me before..."

"...Naruto-kun," she said faintly, calming her heart, which had tried to jump into her throat.

His fingers twisted into the cloth of her vest, pressing his face against the softness of her belly, warm and pliable, comforting him in a strange way. "You're the only one who ever treated me like a person...and you're the only one that can hurt me so easily... Please don't hurt me, Hinata. You've never done it before..."

"Naruto-kun," she said, kneeling down. His grip loosened some, only enough to wrap his arms around her, resting his head against her shoulder. Her hair tickled his ear a little, but he didn't pull away. "Don't do this. You have to understand that you shouldn't be here."

"I _should. _I belong here," he whispered into the skin of her shoulder, breath hot and shaky. "I deserve to live, too."

"Yes, yes you do," she said, her hand coming up to pat his hair down, bright as sunshine and softer than she imagined. "But you _died_. I saw you myself. I was there."

He shook his head, arms tightening around her when she tried to pull back.

How many times had she dreamed of him holding her like this? How many times had she wished she could be near him like right now?

It didn't feel the way she had hoped it would, the sweetness marred by the fact that, in all actuality, she was in a dead man's embrace. How he was here in the first place, she'd yet to figure out.

"I'll take you," she finally said, placing her hands on his knees to push herself up to stand. "I'll take you to your grave."

He finally let her go, surprised by what she'd said. "My...grave?"

"It's a few miles away," she explained. "If we leave now, we'll get there before night falls completely, and I can show you where you were buried."

He stood, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. He nodded determinedly. "Okay."

~~...~~o*o~~...~~

He recognized the trees around them, eyes flicking every which way. He knew this place, and turned to head toward where he knew the battlefield was, but her hand caught his elbow. "Not there," she said. "A little further up."

Hinata never lied, and so he trusted her to lead him in the right direction, even as he itched to go to the place he'd been to last. Yesterday, he had won the war, he had passed out in that clearing, from which she guided him away from now. Today, he was following a girl to his grave.

What shenanigans could he possibly get into now, as a _dead man_?

The first thought he had as they made it to the end of the newly marked path, lined with freshly cut weeds and shrubs to clear the way, was that it was quite lovely, in a strange way. There was a black gate at the front, elegant in the curves and lines of it, completely open for anyone to enter freely. New trees had been planted, some he knew off the top of his head—there's a sycamore, there's a cherry blossom (beginning to _bloom_), there's a little oak, and there's an apple tree—and others he could not name. Some flowers planted, which had withered to the cold, and some grass laid, which was still green enough to be nice.

The second thought was that he had not realized how many of his comrades had not made it.

He followed her through the entrance, but stopped as she continued to climb the short staircase, made from some shiny and smooth black stone, to read the names upon the memorial. Names he did not know, names he could've known, names he _wanted _to know.

Gone so easily.

He froze, instantly, as he came across one name he _did _know.

"Neji," he breathed, reaching a hand out to touch the cold stone.

She watched him closely. "We decided he'd want to be included with everyone else."

He nodded in agreement, letting his eyes search once more. "Where's my name?" He secretly, _childishly_, hoped it wasn't there, and that his friends would jump out, laughing at him for believing it.

"Not there," she stated, and he allowed himself a moment of pointless relief. Pointless, because the next thing she said was, "It's up here."

He looked at her uncertainly, and walked up the steps toward her, following her across a brief platform, a space between this memorial and what looked like another, only smaller and more concealed. They stopped at another gate before they could reach it, black and every bit as pretty as the entrance, but locked shut tightly. He wrapped his hands around the bars, peering in. "Can we go in?"

"No," she murmured. "It'll stay locked for the next few months." Extended, because it seemed the hatred only refueled itself. An endless cycle she wished would end.

He squinted up at the blue-black stone, trying to read it.

She's memorized it. "Uzumaki Naruto. October 10th to October 10th. Shinobi of Konohagakure," she said to him, eyes shut. "Here lies a great hero..." The rest, she left to his imagination. It was all just words strung together. They held meaning, yes, but none enough to completely describe him. Not accurately anyway.

His hands tightened around the bars. _This can't be true. I have to see it for myself. _"I want to go in. I want to see it up close."

"We can't," she argued. "Nobody can go in."

"Why not? It's _my _grave. I'd want visitors! Why'd they lock it?"

"Because people will try to ruin it," she said, and he went silent. "A lot of people...still don't... If you had been alive... If you'd survived, it might've been different..."

He knew what she meant, even if she hadn't said it.

"I don't care," he muttered. "I don't want to be closed off from people. I _never _want to be shut away from others. I don't care in what way."

Before she could speak, he reached a hand over, taking her tanto from her. She moved to stop him, but he already cut away the lock, using what chakra he had to slice it cleanly, and then he pulled it open, stepping inside and then turning to look at her.

"I don't wanna go alone."

She stepped in, despite her better judgment, and took the offered tanto, snapping it back in its place. She waited a few feet behind him, watching for anyone, in case there were still guards around the place. There probably wasn't anymore, but one couldn't be too safe.

He stood before the memorial, reading the words written there, smoothly, nicely. It had been written with the utmost respect, he could tell, and he felt something warm his heart and yet freeze his stomach at the same time. There it was, plain for him to see.

His grave.

After a long and still moment, he walked around behind it, startling her, and knelt to pull the grass, unrolling it and then digging his fingers into the dirt. "What are you doing?" she asked, hurrying over, leaving her task entirely to prevent him from altering the grave.

"I'll believe you when I see my body."

"No!" she yelled, grabbing his hand. He pushed her away, cupping more dirt within his hands and moving to fling it aside. She threw her weight against him, using all of her strength to shove him down, pinning him with her body. She realized, with a frustrated sigh, that she was smaller than him, and he would easily be able to throw her off whenever he wanted. She waited for it, tensed above him, head bowed to the side, staring at the grass beneath them.

He didn't move.

"Naruto...kun?" she mumbled, pulling her head back to look at him and felt her blood drain from her face.

He was crying.

His eyes were wide open, gazing up at the sky past her, bluer than anything she'd ever seen before, reflecting the gray of the clouds, glistening liquid gathered about his eyes, spilling down along his temples toward his ears and hair. He was breathing shallowly, mouth open, his chest brushing against hers, hands slack beneath her own, above his head.

He closed those eyes as she said his name again, letting out a heavy breath. "This has to be a nightmare... Please let this be a nightmare..."

She swallowed around the lump in her throat. "I've been hoping the same for the last couple of months," she muttered. "I woke up every night in a cold sweat, wishing that it had never happened. You don't understand, Naruto-kun... I _saw_..."

"I understand," he whispered.

She shook her head. "No, you don't." She looked at him, and let him see her own tears, droplets falling onto his cheeks, warm and then cooling slowly. "I saw the man I fell in love with die. I saw you bleed to death, I saw you pass away. I saw _everything_... Your teammates, your sensei, your loved ones, all watching you die along with me. I shared in their pain, except... Except it _hurt _so much more for me because...because I loved you. I _still _love you even though I...was so sure you would never come back."

"Hinata..." he breathed, unsure what to say.

"You _don't _understand what I went through. I was so _close _to accepting it and then you show up, out of nowhere!" She gave a humorless, breathless laugh. "I was so _happy_, so _relieved_, even though I might've finally gone crazy, at least I finally got to see you... But I can _touch _you, Naruto-kun. I was ready to live a life knowing your ghost would haunt me, knowing I would never hear your voice or touch you ever again. I would've been fine living without it. I was _fine_ with it..."

He watched her shut her eyes tightly, a pained expression overcoming her gentle features.

"You _don't _understand how much this _hurts_. It hurts so bad... I heard your very last words, and... And I was ready to let them be my last memory of you, I was ready to let go... Why are you doing this to me? Why can't you just let me move on?"

"I... Hinata, I..." _I can't_, he wanted to say. _I'm not dead. Believe me_.

"You said... You said..." She gave another soft laugh, only it was gentle and happy, as if the memory she let herself see was one she really did like. "You said, 'I guess this pretty much settles it. You _have _to make me Hokage now'." Her voice faltered. "We were so ready to make you Hokage."

"Please, don't cry, Hinata," he whispered, closing his eyes. "Don't cry anymore..."

"You were supposed to be Hokage."

The whole world seemed to hang on that one sentence.

Silent.

Unmoving.

_Just like he had been, in Sakura's arms_, her mind told her. _When he had died._

"I will be."

She pulled away, pushing herself up to stand, stepping away and wiping her eyes. Her mask had been slid aside, clinging to the side of her head, waiting to be put back into place, coldly watching the world around her. She fixed the dirt, patted it down, and rolled the grass back over. She did not answer him, stepping back around the tombstone to look at the words again, just like at the funeral, barely noticing when he stood from the grass, making his way over to her.

"This is your grave. Your body is beneath that dirt there. I saw you in the casket. I saw them shut it. I saw them bury it." She reached over and wiped away what dust and dirt had formed upon it, clearing up his name. "Uzumaki Naruto. The best shinobi the world ever knew. You're dead, and it's best you accept that."

"But... But I'm alive..."

"You're a figment of my imagination," she stated. "Nothing more."

She turned, one hand coming up to grasp her mask, about to slide it into place.

"You're wrong," he said from behind her, still staring at the grave.

"You can tell yourself that all you want," she replied, keeping her back to him. If he saw her face, he would see how much she wanted to believe him. "But the fact is, it won't change anything." She began to walk toward the gate, already planning on fixing the lock when she could. "I can accept losing my sanity—maybe you _are _a ghost and I just made myself believe you. I'd seen it coming a mile away... Just accept your death and move on to the afterlife. Leave me be... You're not real."

He grabbed her hand, yanking her back. She turned to protest, her mind reeling.

_Stop imagining things. Stop forcing yourself to feel him_.

But could she imagine it _this_ well? Could she really make herself feel things she never had before?

Like Naruto pulling her close. Naruto's arms circling her. Naruto's hands catching her face, the callouses there she never knew existed to begin with, not like this. Naruto's eyes locked with hers, hard and dark.

She'd never experienced these things before, with anyone.

And then, suddenly, Naruto's lips on hers. Soft and yet chapped, warm and yet cool, from the icy wind blowing around them, but not between them, as he pressed himself close to her, closer than he'd ever been, as close as he could. Warm breath intermixing with hers, finding it difficult to breathe for some reason, lungs giving in within her chest as he, immediately, began to move his lips against hers, quick and hard, determined to prove her wrong, and then his tongue, hot and wet and smooth, sliding along her lips and then slipping into her mouth, tangling with hers. His hands braiding within her hair, tilting her head back as he slanted his mouth against hers, deepening the kiss, something burning deep within her.

Could her imagination really be _that_ great?

She pushed him away, tearing her mouth from his and taking a few steps back, panting for air, face flushed an appealing pink.

His eyes were fiery, deep blue flames that made her skin feel hot and a strange feeling pool within her stomach. "Tell me that wasn't real," he rasped. "Tell me _I'm _not real."

"I..." she sighed. _Why had he done that? To prove a point? The Naruto _I _know would never do that_. "You're not... You can't be..."

But it was there. The memory of it, lips still thrumming from the sensation, heart still pounding in her chest, an excitement still buzzing through her, and that fluttery-light feeling in her stomach. That had been her first kiss—and what a kiss it was. She knew, _they both knew_, she could not have imagined that.

She looked away slowly. "You can'tbe real." It wasn't possible, even with this new experience. Imagination could not bring you new and _real _experiences. Not like _that_. But every single, _rational_, part of her told her otherwise. Where was the science in it? Where was the proof?

_I know what I saw_, she thought stubbornly.

_But you also know what you felt, just now_, her mind teased.

"You _can't _be..."

He was already curling the fingers of one hand in her hair again, pulling her forward, mouth moving back to hers, and her body sang in anticipation, her heart soaring.

She flattened her hands against his chest. "N—No!" she protested. "This isn't—like you!"

His lips hardly brushed hers, hesitating. She was right. It _wasn't _like him. Kissing Hinata Hyuga had never been a plan of his—not even before the war, not even before all this confusion and fear—but, there it was. He'd done it and...he'd liked it. Softly, his lips molded to hers, pressing only very gently, feeling her stop altogether in her weak struggles, and then he pulled away.

He took a step back, eyes lowered and a blush on his face, avoiding her gaze.

"If I were you..." he grumbled, "I would believe me."

She stared at him, covering her mouth, eyes wide. _I do believe you, _she thought in surprise. _But I'm crazy for doing so._

"Please, Hinata. I'm alive. You can _feel _me, and I can feel _you_."

After a moment, she nodded. "Okay." He looked up, surprised, blue eyes hopeful and bright. "Okay, I believe you, Naruto-kun."

He smiled, warmly, widely, openly, and she felt her heart give a squeeze.

How long had she dreamed of that smile?

"Hey!" a voice shouted, breaking the moment between them and drawing their attention.

She slid the mask back into place, turning to face who approached.

Surprising.

It was that ANBU from before, with the fox-faced mask. He had blazing hair, the color of fire, but that was all that stuck out. His skin looked pale in the darkening sky and he moved quickly up the steps toward them, loud again.

Clumsily loud.

"You're not supposed to be in there!" he yelled, stopping just a few feet away from her.

"Sorry," Naruto said, flustered, moving to stand in front of her, so accustomed to protecting his friends. "It was my fault not hers."

"You need to exit these premises right now. I don't care who you are." He reached forward, and Naruto moved away, avoiding the man's hand, but he continued anyway, grabbing Hinata by the arm.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Naruto said as the man began to pull her away from the tombstone. "Leave her alone, I already apologized."

"Naruto," she said, voice stern, dropping the honorific to get her point across.

"Yeah, that's Naruto Uzumaki's grave," the man said, cutting Naruto off. "That's why it's closed off. A lot of people don't respect the guy, like they should. That's why I asked to guard it. I look up to him as a shinobi and I wanted to make sure he was safe, even in the afterlife. He deserves it."

"Wait. What?" Naruto muttered, just as confused as she was.

"Did you know him?" he asked, guiding her past the gates, his grip a lot gentler than before.

She paused, looking up at Naruto, standing beside the other ANBU, who looked at the man in bewilderment. "Hinata...is this guy ignoring me or something?"

"I did know him," she said, looking back at the man, waiting for her answer patiently. "I was...fairly close to him."

"Hm," the man hummed, letting her go and pulling the gate shut, locking it once more—he didn't seem to notice that it was broken and that it didn't latch completely. She sighed in relief. "I'll let it slide this time, though. But if this happens again, I'm not letting you off."

"I understand," she reassured.

She heard the smile in his voice, friendly and kind. "But, if you do visit him again, just tell me. I'll let you in. I can tell you care about him a lot."

"Thank you," she said.

"Sure thing." He turned, about to guide her back to the entrance, but stopped and looked at her again. It was hard to distinguish anything behind a grinning fox-face, but he seemed a bit puzzled. "Say, do I know you from somewhere?"

"She's wearing a mask," Naruto grumbled. "I've known her for _years _and I didn't even recognize her."

Hinata smiled to herself. "It must be your imagination."

"No, something's familiar about you. Kinda in the way you speak."

"I don't think so," she said, fingers curling into fists at her sides.

"Hm, well alright then." He turned on his heel and walked down the steps. "It'd be a little stupid to say I did anyway. You're wearing a mask, after all."

"I _just _said that—Hinata, this guy is ignoring me."

"No," she mumbled. "That's not it." Something turned within her, and she felt uneasy, following the man down and feeling her brows pull together slowly.

"Huh? Did you say something?" the man asked.

"You might've seen me at the funeral," she said quickly.

"Oh, well, now that you mention it, yeah, I think I did."

As they passed beneath the entrance, Naruto moving behind her, she asked, "Did you see anyone else other than myself up there?"

The man tilted his head to the side, thinking. "For a second, I thought I did, but I might've imagined it." He turned his head away, seeming somewhat sheepish. "I thought... I thought I saw you kissing a guy..."

"He _does _notice me," Naruto said, sounding relieved and yet annoyed. "Hey, stop ignoring me then. If you admire me, at least pay attention to me."

"Are you hurt by that?" Hinata asked Naruto, but the man responded.

"N—No," the man denied quickly. "Just surprised. I'm sorry I imagined you...doing things like that at his grave. It's disrespectful of me..."

"Was I being disrespectful to myself?" Naruto mused.

"That wouldn't make sense," Hinata said under breath to him.

"Huh? I didn't hear you," the man said, stepping closer.

"I said that makes sense," she lied. "It's alright. It was just your eyes messing with you."

"Oh, yeah," he said, looking around. "The fog is coming in."

That's when she realized it was nighttime.

"I have to go," she said. "It's later than I thought it was."

"Right." The man straightened, then bowed low. "I hope to see you again. I don't get too many people coming here _just _for Naruto-sama."

"Sama...?" Naruto mumbled, a tinge of pink touching his cheeks. Obviously grateful and flattered, and a little embarrassed. "You don't have to call me that. I'm just like anybody else."

"Sama," she repeated for him, slowly piecing it together. "Naruto-kun wouldn't have wanted you to refer to him like that. He would insist you and him were equals."

"Oh, no," the man grumbled, kicking up some dirt bashfully. "I couldn't. I really do look up to him."

Naruto's lips curved up in a slow, timid smile. "Ah... You can just call me Naruto. I don't mind... Even if you've been ignoring me..."

"Call him Naruto. He would've like that."

She could hear the smile in the man's voice, sounding cheerful. "Okay then. Say, you really were close to him, weren't you?"

"We are now," Naruto said under his breath beside her.

Her face flushed again and she was glad she wore the mask now. "I suppose so."

The man's head tilted to the side, seeming to recognize something, and she realized it was the same response she'd given him after the funeral. He took a step forward, but it wasn't threatening. More astonished than anything. "M—Miss..."

She turned. "I have to go. I'll tell you the next time I come by."

And then she was flashing through the woods, Naruto keeping pace easily beside her.

"Hinata... What was up with that guy? How come he didn't acknowledge me?"

"I'm not sure," she said. "But I'll find out."

~~...~~o*o~~...~~

**A.N.****: I hope that was realistic enough.**

**Woo, we're getting into this now.**

**So, what you'd think?**

**Review please! It feeds the inspiration panda. (Between you and me, he attacked me last time and this story is what I bled out. Pretty awesome blood, huh?) Feed him. It fuels him.**

**Thanks for reading and I'll update when I can. (Or when the inspiration panda attacks me again.)**


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